


What's Important

by arrow (esteefee)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: April Showers Challenge, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-22
Updated: 2008-10-22
Packaged: 2017-10-17 12:21:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/176813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/arrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Being sheriff of a small town after being a major crimes detective in Cascade was a lot like hopping on the merry-go-round after being a career skydiver.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	What's Important

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by [](http://janedavitt.livejournal.com/profile)[**janedavitt**](http://janedavitt.livejournal.com/)'s [icon series of G.M.](http://janedavitt.livejournal.com/1117630.html), which just made me melty and want to cut Blair's hair. :)

Being sheriff of a small town after being a major crimes detective in Cascade was a lot like hopping on the merry-go-round after being a career skydiver.

'Round and 'round, taking Harley to the drunk tank once a month on payday Friday, showing up at Mrs. Gibson's house to request she _please_ stop shooting her BB-gun at the blackbirds decimating her plum tree, because she was scaring the neighborhood parents who thought she might go after their children next—those _were_ some mighty tasty plums, after all.

Every so often, he and Blair would have to arrest poachers who were going way over the limit, or bust kids for selling drugs (grass, mostly) at the local high school.

And once in a blue moon, someone got murdered. Only twice in the two years they'd been living and working in Red Tree, and on both occasions the hardest part was finding out where the husband or the girlfriend had holed up out of terror for what they'd done.

In two years there had also been a total of ten incidents of legitimate hate crimes, and since all ten of them had been aimed at the sheriff and his deputy/live-in-partner, no one took them very seriously. Except for Blair, of course, because he still was fighting the good fight, wanting to educate people and expand their horizons. But Jim could have told him (and did try, repeatedly) that there were no lessons to be learned through words when it came to prejudice. The only lessons were time and familiarity, until hate wore itself down to contempt, then mild dislike, and finally, grudging acceptance.

Because that was how small towns were.

But still, Jim refused to be outed as a sentinel. He could handle George down at the bar asking, a little too loudly to be under his breath, if Jim was 'the girl' in their relationship. It was pretty funny: Jim and Blair had been keeping a tally, and now that Sandburg's hair was short and he wore a deputy's uniform, he got asked that only about as often as Jim did.

It wasn't important. Jim sure as hell didn't have anything to prove. On their very last case for the Cascade P.D., he and Blair had alone prevented a terrorist attack on the Grand Coulee Dam that could have resulted in thousands of deaths. Jim had been forced to snap the neck of the man holding the detonator. And Jim knew, by the nervous flicker of fear in George's eyes when Jim smiled at him coldly, that ol' George knew the story and was already regretting bringing himself to Jim's attention.

So Jim could deal with getting the truck touched up when someone keyed the word 'FAGGOT' on the side panel; he laughed when he discovered a bouquet of pansies waiting on his office desk one morning after Letisha in Accounting caught sight of them cozying up in the back of the town's only movie theatre.

And Blair didn't care at all. He wore his affection and even his lust for Jim like a badge of pride. He started a LGBT support group and met with all six of the town's members once a month to fold pamphlets and flyers for distributing at the high school and the nearby college.

So, Sandburg claimed he didn't really understand why, now that they were living as a couple and working in a sleepy town in the middle of nowhere, Jim still refused to let anyone know about his sentinel abilities. Why he still insisted on falsifying how he tracked so many lost hikers or identified the right lockers containing marijuana stashes.

Maybe Blair just didn't want to understand. But there was still so much baggage attached to being a sentinel; so many things about it that still filled Jim with frustration and even shame.

///

"Oh, man, what a day. I thought for sure Ruby was going to punch Mr. Shoemacher in the face." Blair turned their jeep cruiser onto the highway and pointed them toward home.

"Well, he kind of had it coming, Chief. Those were prize-winning azaleas he ran over."

"Not anymore, but least now he'll have to go in for that eye check up. Poor guy—if he doesn't pass the vision test we'll have to revoke his license."

"Yeah."

"How about you? Vision still wonky?"

"I'm fine."

"Then why did you throw me the keys? Afraid you'll mince Ms. Candace's rosebushes next?"

"Ha ha."

"Seriously, Jim." Blair shot him a quick once-over before returning his eyes to the road. "You _never_ let me drive."

"I thought you deserved a treat."

"Oh, I deserve a treat all right," Blair said, leering at him ridiculously.

"Keep it in your pants, short stuff. We're in the company car." Jim dragged his hat off the dash and placed it in his lap. Amazing—two years in, and Blair could still get him hard just with one hot look.

"Don't think you can sidetrack me by getting a hard-on," Blair said. "Hard-ons are a dime a dozen coming from you."

"And I'd think you'd be grateful about that, considering my advanced state of decrepitude."

"You're confusing decrepitude with degeneracy."

Jim grinned lazily, and then winced when they passed the lake. The sunset was gleaming off the water apparently so it could beam directly into his eyes.

"There _is_ something going on."

"It's fine." Now, of course, he couldn't put his shades on or Sandburg would notice and give him the fish-eyed Guide look.

"Yeah, sure," Sandburg said, but as soon as he parked them in their driveway he was shoving Jim up the stairs and into the bedroom.

"Chief. You're being silly. It's just a headache."

"It's never just a headache with you, you know that. It's a headache and then photosensitivity and then with the puking. And I'm not cleaning up puke tonight, big guy. So just get with the program." But in spite of the rough, affectionate harangue, Blair's cool touch was on Jim's forehead, pressing him down into the pillow as he applied pressure to Jim's "trigger points," as he called them in granola-speak.

And damned if those fingers didn't work their magic, or maybe it was just knowing someone gave a damn—after all this time, Jim still couldn't get over the fact Sandburg wanted to touch him like this—give him what he needed—even when Jim didn't know what it was himself.

All Jim had to do was accept it.

///

It hadn't been easy at first. Or in the middle, or any time in between. Jim had the excuse of saying nothing had ever prepared him for this—for intimacy of this nature between two men. Long before the first time they'd had sex, Blair had touched Jim in ways he never anticipated or even realized he'd been starved for. And always with an openness, a complete lack of agenda beyond making Jim feel better.

So, of course, Jim had rejected it. At first. Then on a really bad day early on, crippled and disoriented by a sensory spike so severe he'd thought he was losing his mind, he'd grabbed Sandburg's hand and begged him to " _do something. God, anything, Blair, please_."

And Blair, with no sign of triumph, just pure compassion, had said, easily, " _Sure, Jim. I can help you with this. You just have to relax."_ The "trust me" was implicit. And by that point, even if Jim hadn't already trusted his career—his _life_ —to Blair's competence, he would have anyway, he was that desperate for relief.

So Jim listened to Blair's voice, and followed his hands as they pressed here, and there, and then right _there,_ where the pain collected like poison yet dissipated under Blair's fingers in a fucking miracle.

That was the first time. Over the years it got easier to follow instructions, to learn to accept the intimacy long before it became a necessity.

After a while, Jim even started asking first.

But today it was his own damned fault, and that made it hard to ask. One of his deputies, Ken Sullivan, had broken the copier, and Jim decided it was his turn to fix it, even though it was against Blair's rules—" _Do you have any idea what toner can do to people with **regular** chemical sensitivities, Jim?"—_ and by the time Jim realized he was developing a mother of a headache, he was already wrist-deep in copier guts, following the outdated manual and trying to identify flap C and tab A to remove the jam before Blair got back from grabbing them lunch.

Now, though, with Blair's palm pressing against his forehead while Jim followed his instructions— _Breathe, now hold for one, two, three, four, and out, slow—_ Jim regretted not following the rules. Blair smelled worried, and it was Jim's fault.

Under the pressure of Blair's palm and his quiet voice, Jim ducked the pain and slid into the dark. When he woke up it was late, nine or so, his body clock said. He could hear Blair typing in the kitchen, probably writing an email to the guys at Major Crimes or maybe one of his old students.

"You're up," Blair said quietly when Jim walked in, yawning.

"Yeah. Thanks for earlier," he said. He got himself a bottle of water and sat down across from Blair, who was frowning at his screen. "Everything okay?"

"I'm just writing up tonight." He pointed a finger at Jim without raising his eyes. "What was it, you think? Pollen? Janet's new perfume?"

Jim groaned and planted his elbows on the table so he could rest his face in his hands. "Copier."

He heard Blair jerk his head up. "Copier. That's just great."

"I'm sorry, Chief. I just—"

"You just wanted to see if you've suddenly, magically developed an immunity to cadmium sulphide? Which, do I need to remind you, is on your list of really big no-nos?" Blair asked with deadly patience.

"I just...I forgot."

Blair slammed his laptop shut, making Jim wince.

"Okay, I didn't forget. I just...sometimes I want to be...I want to be able to..." Jim lifted his hands helplessly and looked into Blair's face, trying to communicate his frustration.

Blair's eyes softened, and Jim took a silent breath of relief.

"Okay, I get it. You wanted to play with the big kids."

Jim snorted a laugh. "Yeah, got it in one."

Blair smiled and came around the table. He bent over and gave Jim a slow kiss, and Jim knew he was forgiven.

"How're you feeling now?" Blair asked a little breathlessly when he pulled back.

Jim closed his eyes and did a check. "All systems green, Chief."

"Yeah?" Another kiss, this time with enough heat behind it that Jim felt himself growing hard.

"Oh, yeah. Greener than green."

"Cool." Blair nuzzled him once and then straightened. "Let me get a shave, and then why don't you take a nice, long shower?"

Jim shivered at the low suggestion. It was Blair's secret cue that Jim was going to get fucked tonight.

"Sounds good," Jim said, feeling his cheeks heat up.

Blair didn't fuck him that often. At least, not nearly as often as Jim would like. The senses were good for a lot of things, but they had their limitations, and even after two years of regular sack-time, they still hadn't worked out all the problems.

Sometimes being a sentinel really sucked.

///

Jim stepped out of the shower feeling warm and relaxed and a little hard. He found Blair in the bedroom already stripped down to his boxers and bending over their nightstand. An inspiring sight, even if Jim wouldn't get to sink into that sweet ass tonight.

"Mmmm," Blair hummed as Jim nosed his way into the short curls at the back of Blair's neck. Jim wrapped his arms around Blair and pulled him sideways until they both fell onto the bed, a tube of lubricant now raised triumphantly in Blair's hand.

"Gonna fuck me?" Jim asked, unnecessarily; he knew Blair liked him to talk dirty, but the inspiration didn't come very often. Mostly because as soon as Jim got even a little turned on he was reduced to embarrassingly primitive grunts and moans.

"Yeah," Blair said breathlessly, rubbing his freshly-shaved cheek against Jim's. "After. After, okay?"

He was always so damned careful. The main problem was, whenever Jim was aroused, he had no control over the dials. Blair had finally convinced him to do "drills" of a sort, under much protest— _"Sex is supposed to be **fun** , Chief"—_but they hadn't done a lick of good. When Jim got excited, the dials spun way up, which was great for the superb quality and number of his orgasms, but made him way too sensitive to be fucked properly.

So Blair always made him come first, at least once if not twice, usually with his mouth, which—Jim sure the hell wasn't complaining, but sometimes he wished Blair would just take him anyway, without all the careful preparation.

"You don't have to," Jim said, growling a little in Blair's ear. "Let's just do it this time. I can take it."

"Nuh uh." Blair said firmly, then kissed him and pushed at his shoulder. "C'mon, turn over."

Jim obeyed with a tingle of anticipation. Blair was going to—this part always embarrassed Jim but turned him on so much he could barely breathe. He pushed a pillow underneath his hips so his ass was raised high, and then relaxed as best he could knowing what Blair's mouth was going to be doing to him next.

Blair started, as always, with gentling kisses on Jim's shoulders, then his spine, wending his way down with soft licks. He never bit—by now Jim was too turned on, and a bite would feel like a razor cut. So sweet and soft, Blair's lips on one of the dimples above Jim's ass, and then Blair spread him open and he felt the first wet touch of Blair's tongue against his hole.

Jim jerked and almost came right then, way too soon, but Blair reached between his legs and applied gentle pressure with his knuckles high on Jim's balls, pressing down. Jim shuddered and then relaxed again.

"Go for it," he whispered, his voice rough with desire. And then he couldn't talk anymore, because Blair was stroking him with his tongue, swirling around and then dipping inward, gentle pressure once, twice before Jim felt himself opening up, blossoming under Blair's tongue.

Jim moaned, and felt the vibration of Blair's low response right on the excruciatingly sensitized nerves of his asshole. It was too much. It was overwhelming.

"Oh. Oh." Jim buried his mouth in the pillow and groaned his gratitude when Blair slipped his tongue inside him. Jim's nerves sang and he twitched at the incredible pleasure of it, and the rush of intimacy, of Blair knowing him this way. A handful of gentle thrusts of Blair's tongue, and Jim's first orgasm was already rising hard, rushing up from his balls. Blair pressed deep and wiggled his tongue, and Jim came, holding his breath and wetting the pillow beneath his hips.

"God," Jim gasped.

"Mmmm," Blair hummed smugly and gave him another lick. Jim shuddered and twitched away, so Blair pulled back to give him time to come down.

"Okay, okay," Blair said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. The high hum of Jim's senses damped down a little, and he turned over to pull Blair up for a kiss. They kissed until the touch of Blair's calloused fingers on his chest no longer felt like sandpaper, and then Jim reached down and stroked Blair's cock.

Blair moaned like a cat.

"Want me to suck you, get you ready?" Jim said, stroking a slow thumb back and forth over Blair's circumcision scar.

"No way. Gonna blow if you even keep doing that," Blair said ruefully. He tugged Jim's hand away, but Jim immediately reached up and started fingering Blair's nipple. "Cut it out," Blair said, gasping and laughing.

"Come on then," Jim said, pushing one knee under Blair's torso so he could wrap his legs around him.

Blair raised himself up on his arms and looked down at Jim with a serious expression.

"What?"

"Where are your dials at?"

Jim shrugged, and Blair shook his head.

Rolling his eyes, Jim said, "Look, I'm not gonna break, okay?"

"Jesus, Jim, you think I can even keep it up if I know I'm hurting you? It's bad enough to know you aren't really enjoying it—"

"That's bull and you know it. I do enjoy it—"

Blair set his mouth stubbornly. "It's not the same." He was already softening where he was pressed against Jim's thigh, and Jim gave in quickly.

"All right," he said. "It's okay. Let's just—" Jim held himself and stroked a few times lightly, trying to get hard again in a hurry. He knew how to touch himself without over-stimulating, and the sooner he came again, the sooner his senses would go back to normal and Blair could get his.

He wanted Blair to get his. He wanted to be everything Blair needed, but sometimes it was so goddamned difficult to get there Jim wondered why Blair even bothered.

Blair looked down at Jim's hand and then looked up again, his pupils dilating. Jim hid a smile—for some reason Blair really liked watching him touch himself. A moment later Blair bent over and capped Jim's cock with his soft mouth.

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, just like that, just the tip," Jim said, moving his cock shallowly into Blair's mouth. Just looking at Blair's lips moving lazily over the crown of his cock made Jim twitch. That sweet, fuckable mouth—

"Ah!" Jim relaxed his hand and let the soft wetness pull his orgasm out of him, a tingling rush that throbbed up through his cock and into Blair's mouth. "Jesus Christ," Jim said. He gently took Blair's face in his hands and pulled him away. "Just give me a second."

"Take all the time you need," Blair said, sounding more mischievous than impatient. Jim didn't get it. He didn't get how Blair could be so self-sacrificing, and it made him feel both guilty and grateful.

After a few minutes Blair kissed his palm and knelt up. Jim was as good as dead in the dick department, but he loved looking at Blair like this—flushed and aroused, his nipples hard and his cock erect and curving up over his belly. _Beautiful boy_ , Jim thought, although Blair was no boy any longer, but a man grown, confident of his strengths and abilities, and so damned attractive for it. Even if Jim's dick couldn't respond, his heart did, at having somehow captured and kept Blair's interest for all these years.

Jim spread his legs wider, hauling his knees back, feeling the pull of his thighs as he exposed himself. And then Blair's fingers were inside him, stretching him easily now to make room for his cock. Jim wrapped his legs around Blair's hips and pulled him closer, pulled him inside, and watched Blair's eyes roll back. Jim clenched around him, feeling outrageously sluttish and raunchy.

Two years ago he never would have recognized this guy he'd become. This guy who craved being fucked for the connection it brought him and for the pleasure he wanted to be responsible for, reflected now on Blair's face as he thrust and groaned and panted endearments right before he came.

But as good as it was for Jim to watch Blair and feel him coming inside him, it was still bitter knowing the senses prevented him from ever being together with Blair in that one perfect moment.

It just wasn't meant to be.

///

The next day was a little exciting, in that an escaped convict was reported in the area. The U.S. Marshal showed up with his Chief Deputy and a couple of others, and Jim coordinated them with his own deputies while Blair gathered topographical data for the search.

They split up into teams of four, except for Jim and Blair, who always worked alone for obvious reasons. Sandburg had hunched over the computer entering data for an experimental simulation he said had been proven useful for narrowing down search areas. He pointed privately to the top three projected grid sections, and he and Jim hit those areas first.

The first two locations were washouts, and Jim began to get worried the Feds were going to show them up.

"Oh, ye of little faith," Sandburg said, punching Jim in the arm before turning them toward the third and final possible location indicated in the simulation. They walked slowly while Jim opened up his sight and hearing.

A gentle squeeze on his arm warned him to look down in time to avoid tripping over a thick branch

"Thanks," he said.

"Okay, this is it," Sandburg said a little while later as they crossed the horse trail winding through the park reserve. "Somewhere between here and the river. If Benson isn't here, we'll try driving out to join Team 3 at Vargas Ridge."

"We're getting warmer," Jim said, uncertain where he was getting the knowledge. The pieces of the map hovered in his mind, and he overlaid Benson's last known location with where they were walking. "I don't know why, since this is way off the trajectory, but my gut is telling me—" Jim stopped and scoped around again quickly. There was something—

"What?" Sandburg said beside him. Jim looked over and saw Blair's face was bright with anticipation, his hand resting on the butt of his gun.

Sandburg with a gun. Sometimes the sight still threw Jim. He shook his head and then did another full sweep along the tree line, but he couldn't _see_ it, whatever it was.

"Out of place...something." Jim sniffed experimentally. Suddenly he tasted it in the back of his mouth—the heavy scent of a closed cell and the piss and blood and fear he remembered from his time inside Starkville. He couldn't imagine how he'd missed it before; maybe he'd been focusing too much on sight. "I smell him. Sandburg, put your hand on my shoulder. I think I can track him." Jim turned off his radio.

Blair did the same, and with the reassuring grip of Sandburg's hand grounding him, Jim turned his head slowly to identify the heaviest concentration of the scent. When he pinged on it he started forward, Blair moving smoothly and near-silently behind him.

They'd done this a hundred times. Jim followed Blair's nudges and hints over and around obstacles while he kept completely focused on smell and, after a while, switched to sound. Jim identified the heavy, limping tread and the slight clinking of a piece of chain Benson hadn't managed to rid himself of. As they got closer, Jim quietly unholstered his piece and felt Blair drop his hand and do the same. By accord, they put a few feet between them before continuing forward with all caution, hunching over and stepping as silently as possible. A flash of deep blue against the green had Jim pointing and signaling, and Sandburg broke right while Jim went left so he could head Benson off.

Twenty yards. Ten. No change to Benson's limping steps or his murmured undertones, telling himself there had to be water nearby, God, he was dying of thirst, he needed a beer.

Hearing it, Jim promised himself a beer tonight when they caught this bastard. Jim hardly ever drank anymore, thanks to the senses, but he and Blair would deserve at least a couple of beers tonight if they managed to snake the Feds with this capture.

The take down didn't go as smoothly as Jim had hoped. What looked like a smooth patch of ground dusted with sand turned out to be pure mud, and Jim's foot squelched just as he was stepping around a thick bush to confront Benson.

"Son of a bitch!" Benson yelled, already raising a double-barreled shotgun, and Jim dove clumsily backward and then rolled and scrambled on his elbows to get Benson back in sight.

"State Sheriff's department! Drop your weapon!" Jim yelled just before the shotgun fired and pellets tore up the air around him. The concussion blew out Jim's hearing momentarily, and he frantically wiped the blood suddenly stinging his right eye.

Dimly, he heard the pump action as Benson loading the other chamber, and Jim grimly raised his gun to try for a shot between the greenery.

But Sandburg was suddenly there behind Benson. "Freeze where you are! Don't you fucking move, I mean it!"

 _Thank God,_ Jim thought, scrambling over and out of Benson's sightline so he could approach from the side.

"Put it down," Jim growled. Benson cursed and lowered the shotgun to the ground, and Sandburg kicked it away.

"You okay?" Blair asked.

Jim nodded and pulled out his cuffs. Now that it was over he could feel the sting of the cut above his eye. Probably shrapnel from the bush, or possibly a pellet. Jim raised his shoulder to rub his eye clear again as he moved forward to yank Benson's hands behind his back.

"Thanks, partner," Jim said, snapping the cuffs around Benson's wrists.

Blair grinned at him and pretended to buff his nails. "Anytime."

"Oh, I'm never living this one down, am I?"

"Nope, never."

///

Benson cursed them both solidly as "goddamned hicks" on the walk back to base camp, which made Blair laugh.

"You're a pretty well-traveled hick, Chief," Jim said, "and, Benson, if you want hot food tonight I suggest you keep your pie-hole shut," making Blair laugh some more.

Blair radioed ahead to the grim-faced U.S. Marshal in charge, Fred Monham, who took Benson into custody as soon as they trudged into camp. Then they were surrounded by the excited search team, who all wanted to clap them on the back.

Someone brought Jim a first aid kit. Blair sat him down on a picnic bench and swiped his cut with an antiseptic wipe before taping it shut with butterfly strips. "What the hell happened, anyway? How'd he get the drop on you?"

"Mud puddle," Jim muttered, embarrassed.

"Mud puddle." Blair looked at him with disbelief, and lowered his voice, murmuring, "Big, bad sentinel."

"Aw, shaddup."

After Benson was shipped off in a transport van, the deputies from the USMS insisted on dragging them both to the nearest bar to celebrate. Jim could tell from Sandburg's amused eye rolling that he was entertained by all the macho trash talk being tossed around.

Someone came up next to Jim and slammed a pint on the bar in front of him.

"First round on us." It was Tony, Monham's Chief Deputy. "That was some job of tracking. How'd you find him so goddamned fast?" Tony directed the question to Sandburg, but he was looking at Jim.

"We used a computer simulation devised by a graduate student at Cal Tech." Blair was talking fast; trying to divert Tony's attention, Jim thought gratefully. "It extrapolates probable escape vectors based on factors like population density, availability of resources, stuff like that. We found Benson at the third site suggested."

Tony was now staring at Blair. "You think you can show me how to work something like that?"

"No problem."

Waving at the bartender, Tony said, "Pour me a pint for the computer whiz, here." He turned in his stool until he could face Blair. "Does it cost anything?"

"Nope. Educational software. Still in beta, but it's an ongoing research project."

"Whoo-ee. Well, Monham's gonna like hearing that. Budget gets tighter every year."

The noise level of the crowd suddenly swelled, and Jim winced, then took a sip of his beer. It was the good stuff—the best draft beer in town, and it made Jim's taste buds perk up nicely.

Behind them, the other deputy marshal who'd stuck around, Ally-something, was flirting with Deputy Johnson, who was, the last Jim had checked, married with a newborn. Jim craned his head past Sandburg and gave Johnson a not-so-subtle glare.

"Uh, 'scuse me, ma'am. I have to hit the can," Johnson mumbled and weaved past the bar toward the restrooms.

Blair rolled his eyes at Jim, who shrugged.

After downing his first pint, Jim wandered over to the dartboard and played a game of cricket with Santiago. The win earned Jim another pint, and he took it with a smirk at Blair, who'd always claimed it was unfair for Jim to use his abilities to win at darts. But Jim figured if the senses were "normal variation," as Sandburg was always claiming, then he could hardly call it an unnatural advantage.

After two pints, the advantage pretty much went away, Jim's senses dulling down, and he barely pulled out a win against Sully by landing a double-bull on his final dart.

"Bastard!" Sully said, but he was grinning. Everyone was loose, and Jim's whole department was pretty proud of having beat out the Marshals in pulling in Benson without any casualties—beyond Jim's left boot, which was still caked in mud. Hell, before Monham had taken off he'd casually mentioned to Jim and Blair that there were always openings for good trackers in the USMS, and he wouldn't mind speaking to them both on the subject the next morning.

By the time Jim had finished his third pint, he was feeling pretty loose himself, and got Blair to drive them home.

"You don't usually drink that much," Blair said thoughtfully as he pulled out onto the highway. "In fact, I don't remember you ever."

"We had a big day," Jim said. The evening air was sweet with jasmine, and the breeze from the car window felt great against his forehead, cooling the throb of his cut.

Blair drove quietly for a while before saying in a guilty voice, "You ever miss it, Jim?"

Jim knew what he meant. Not that there had ever been any other option other than leaving Cascade, despite Blair's tremendous sacrifice at the press conference. No, the press might have been convinced, but sticking around would have meant working without Blair. That much Jim had figured out from all the whispers he'd overheard after Sandburg got his badge and they started working together as partners.

Either Jim was a freak, or Sandburg was a liar. There was no path in between.

"Not anymore," Jim said. "Although, today was good. A real good day."

"Yeah. You were amazing."

" _We_ were, Chief. I don't think we could've done it back in Cascade, either. This way, out here, we're more..." The beer was fucking with Jim's brain a little, and he couldn't find the right words to say it—that up here they were equals, in spite of Blair being his deputy. Up here, no one questioned that they were partners, even-steven. Down in Cascade they had too much history. "I like how we are up here," was all Jim could say.

"Me, too, Jim."

"Not to mention we don't have to make any excuses for who we are. There's nobody on top to split us up."

"We're the _law_ , man," Blair said, and Jim had to laugh.

///

The house was dark without the porch light on, and Blair hung onto the back of Jim's belt while Jim walked unsteadily up the path, up their stairs, and inside.

"Man, you are wasted," Blair said, laughing as Jim fumbled for the light switch. He finally snapped it on, wincing automatically, but for a change the sudden brightness didn't faze him. In fact, all his senses were humming along at just above old normal—his dials at four and holding. He should drink beer more often.

Jim stopped dead, and Blair bumped into him. "Hey!"

"Chief, you know what? I like beer."

"Yeah? Better not like it too much," Blair said, patting Jim's belly as he passed, "you don't want to lose that pretty figure of yours."

"Yeah, but no—hang on." Experimentally, Jim tried to dial up a little, but he seemed to be stuck right at four. "Weird," he said, and shrugged.

"What's weird?" Blair came back from the kitchen with a bottle of water and a couple of aspirin. "Here."

"Thanks." Jim swallowed them down. "Just...all that beer seems to have affected the dials."

"Uh-oh." Blair looked concerned. "That's it, partner. No more drinking for you—"

"No, I mean—it's okay, really. They're just kind of stuck down low." Jim shrugged. "No big deal. I'm sure it'll be over by morning."

"Oookay."

"Really, Chief, I'm fine." Jim patted Blair's cheek. "Come on, time to shower and hit the sheets. Tony's going to want his _private lesson_ tomorrow morning before they take all off." Jim waggled his eyebrows, and Blair punched him in the arm.

"Jealousy is _so_ unattractive."

Just for that, Jim snaked dibs on the first shower.

///

He was floating in the good place—clean skin under clean sheets—and rubbing his cock idly, when Blair finally came upstairs and joined him. Jim instantly rolled over on top of him to get a fresh whiff of Sandburg's skin. It was a little dissatisfying because the beer was dampening his senses, but Jim still enjoyed himself nosing around Blair's chest hair and catching his nipple between his teeth. No ring there anymore, but Blair gave a sweet moan of approval when Jim tugged lightly.

"I really meant it," Blair whispered, his voice already rough with desire, "what I said about you being amazing today. Even that butthead Monham was knocked back. I mean, you didn't even have a sock to sniff and you found him anyway with just your nose. Your incredible nose."

Jim shrugged, and felt Blair's hands moving across his shoulder blades. "He smelled wrong. Out of place. That was enough. Also, he still had prison stink on him." Jim bit down a little harder, and Blair swatted at him.

"Don't stop," Blair said when Jim obligingly gentled his grip.

"Hey, make up your mind."

Blair chuckled. His hands slid lower, down Jim's back, but stopped just above his ass. Jim wished Blair would fuck him again. Even though he'd just had Blair's cock the night before, he didn't want to wait a month or whatever it took for Blair to reach the point where his guilt was overwhelmed by his need, until he didn't care that Jim wasn't turned on when he did it—

Jim lifted his head sharply. He was aroused right now. But he wasn't overwhelmed.

"What is it?"

"Blair." Jim had to clear his throat, sudden excitement stopping his voice.

"What? You're freaking me out, here—" Blair did look freaked.

"Shh, it's okay. It's just...the beer..."

"Oh." Blair sounded disappointed. "Are you, uh, you know..." he looked away, "...not interested?"

"Hell, no!" Jim said.

"Because it's no big deal," Blair said soothingly. "It doesn't mean anything. Alcohol is a depressant—"

"I’m not depressed! Does this feel depressed to you?" Jim rolled to the side and then pulled Blair's hand down to his dick, which was nicely hard, thank you very much.

"Heh. No, your cock doesn't feel depressed." Blair stroked it very lightly with his fingers, careful, as always, not to over-stimulate. He hardly ever used his hand on Jim's cock, and when he did, it was always this same gentle, fleeting touch.

Except tonight it wasn't enough. With rising excitement, Jim realized his senses weren't climbing the walls like they usually did, even with Blair touching him there.

"Blair, you're not going to believe this."

"What?" Blair leaned over and kissed him, still fondling Jim's cock in a very distracting way. Jim wanted to explain, but he didn't think he could get all the words in the right order. So he reached down and squeezed his hand hard around Blair's and stroked himself with Blair's hand once, a rough, tight stroke. It was so good it made Jim gasp.

"Jim!" Blair tried to let go, but Jim wouldn't let him.

"It's okay. It's okay, really—that's what's amazing." Jim dragged their hands up and down again, moaning. "It doesn't hurt."

"It...it doesn't?"

"No, it's good. It's real good." When Jim opened his eyes, Blair was staring at him. "Believe it," Jim said.

"I believe you," Blair said. "It's just...weird."

"No, it's not. It's _fantastic_. Now, let go."

Blair let go so quickly Jim had to laugh.

"Blair," he said, then planted a quick kiss on Blair's lips before saying, "I want you to fuck me. I want to come _while_ you're fucking me."

"What—no, Jim. We just—it's impossible."

"It's not impossible. It's totally possible. It's imperative."

"Jim, you still have to be sore from last night—"

"Are you kidding? You're so goddamned gentle I barely feel it. Besides, the beer, Blair. The beer."

"The beer." Blair looked at him blankly.

"Yeah. All the dials—they're stuck at four, I swear. They're _stuck_ , you get me? Look." Jim leaned back and twisted his own nipples roughly between his fingers until they burned. God, he hadn't been able to do this in forever—normally, his nipples were as sensitive as his cock whenever he was turned on.

Blair was staring at him, his pupils blown wider than Jim had ever seen them. "God, Jim."

"Fuck me. I want it. Jesus, Blair, I want you to fuck me so bad—"

Blair pounced, kissing him hard, fingers joining Jim's to play with his nipple. Jim groaned into Blair's mouth and urged him on.

"Yeah, like that. Nice and hard."

"Oh, God. Oh, Jim." Blair bent his head and nibbled on Jim's nipple while staring up at his face. Jim smiled down at him, and Blair closed his mouth and sucked hard before lifting his head.

"It's all good, Chief. I'm telling you."

Blair stared at him for one second more. Then he pulled back and went for the drawer to come back with the lube. "This is going to be so good."

"Yeah."

"My cock's going to make you feel so good," Blair whispered hoarsely.

Jim swallowed, his chest tightening with grief and guilt. God, just the night before he'd been selfishly mourning their incomplete connection, and here this whole time Blair had been robbed of the pride of making Jim feel good. Instead, Christ—Blair had to always touch him so gently; had to treat his own cock like the fucking enemy because he might hurt Jim's too pathetically sensitive ass.

"S-sorry. I'm sorry, Blair," Jim tried to say, but Blair was kissing him, Blair was stroking slippery fingers back behind Jim's balls, hesitantly at first, and then more firmly pressing in, and Jim's apology turned into a moan of pleasure as Blair's finger slid right into him. So easily. So painlessly.

"Good?" Blair had paused at his moan, but Jim nodded and squirmed, trying to get more of Blair's finger into him. "Good," Blair said softly, deeply, and he wriggled his finger, spreading the lube around before pulling back to apply more. "Gonna be so good," he repeated, and pushed with two fingers.

Two fingers, and it felt great, it felt natural, not scraping or awful or painful. Jim groaned his approval and begged for another shamelessly, loving the way Blair's eyes widened in disbelief and eagerness, the way he bit his lip to control his desire just until he could finally, finally push up Jim's legs and slide home.

Blair's cock, inside him, warm and heavy and so goddamned good.

Blair was motionless, holding his breath, his lips still twisting with uncertainty. But Jim wasn't going to let him wait, didn't want him to go slow or easy or careful, not this time. This time Blair's cock inside him was magic.

Jim was never, ever giving this up.

"Fuck me good," he said, and hooked Blair's hips with his ankles to pull him in.

It was like fucking heaven—the sweet thrusting of Blair's hips, the tingle of Blair's balls striking his ass, Blair's thick cockhead dragging against Jim's sweet spot over and over, ringing through him like a chime, faster, harder, both of them moaning like crazy.

Both of them together in it.

Blair's thrusts were steady, even, and it was easy for Jim to relax into it, move with him, clench around him to feel the pleasure pushing up through him. Just from the thought of it, of being able to take pleasure from Blair's cock, Jim was going to come. He felt it in his guts, in his balls—finally he was going to come from something other than Blair's sweet ass, hot mouth and soft tongue. This time, Jim was going to come from Blair's hard cock inside him, filling him effortlessly and stroking him so good.

"Gonna...gonna come. Blair—" Jim clutched at Blair's arms, begging him to understand. He wanted this so badly, and if he could just hold on—

Blair stared down at him with dazed blue eyes, but he blinked once in understanding and started pumping short and fast, each thrust jolting through Jim like lightning.

"God. Please, Blair" Jim said, his fingers digging into Blair's muscular forearms.

"Jim, Jim," Blair whispered, "love you—" His eyelids fluttered, his rhythm going ragged, and Jim felt him beginning to pulse inside him, so Jim let himself go, let himself feel everything, all the love he felt for Blair, everything Blair was to him combining into one cohesive burst of pleasure that took the breath from his lungs. Jim arched and clenched hard, riding the wave, his cock twitching and then spurting come over his belly. "Blair," he said, and then, as the gentler, smaller swells rolled over him, he said again, "Blair."

It was the answer to everything Jim had ever needed, contained in one syllable; contained in one man.

One man who was now lying limply on Jim's chest, his damp face buried against Jim's neck. Jim lifted noodle-like arms and wrapped them around Blair's sweaty back.

"Jim."

"Chief." Jim pressed a kiss against Blair's forehead.

"Am I dead?"

"Yeah. I think we both are."

"Good." Blair patted his shoulder feebly and promptly fell asleep.

Jim closed his eyes and smiled.

///

He awoke a few of hours later with his skin twitchingly alive again and itching from the dried flakes of come coating his stomach. Also, his ass hurt.

He tried to slide out from under Blair without waking him, but Blair jerked and opened his eyes.

"Sticky," he complained, yawning.

"Yeah, that has a way of happening. Two guys, twice the mess."

"Ha." Blair's eyes slid shut again, but Jim pushed him over to slide onto the bed.

"Time for a mop-up, bright eyes."

"Uhnf."

"Now, Chief."

"Yeah, yeah."

They bumped around each other in the bathroom, trading time at the sink and the bathtub, exchanging occasional, sleepy kisses. Jim opted for a full shower since his senses were acting a little erratically. Nothing he couldn't deal with, but it would be smarter to get clean and change the bed sheets.

He threw on a T-shirt and boxers and took care of the sheets while Blair knocked around locking up and putting coffee and water in the automatic coffeemaker. The best investment they'd ever made was buying a coffeemaker with a timer so that neither of them had to be up before the coffee was ready.

Jim was already in bed, covered and clean and toasty warm, when Blair came back upstairs. He hovered in the doorway for a moment looking at him.

Jim cocked his head and waited.

Blair smiled—a huge, gorgeous smile that took up his whole face—and Jim smiled back helplessly.

"What?"

"You realize this means tests, Jim."

"What? No way! What're you talking about?"

"Mmm hmm. Maybe even a paper: 'Inhibitory Sensory Responses to Ethanol Absorption in the Modern-Day Sentinel.' "

Jim clapped his hand over his eyes and groaned.

"I mean, exactly how much alcohol does it take? Does the type of alcohol matter?" Blair stalked over to the bed and kneed his way over to Jim. "I'm thinking lots and _lots_ of tests to get everything exactly right."

"Oh, yeah?" Jim tried hard not to grin.

" _Oh_ , yeah."

"You know, I think I might be down with that, Chief."

Blair's smile was wide an open. "That's good, Jim."

"Because far be it for me to stand in the way of important scientific research." It was so good that they could joke about it now. No more broken hearts, no more loss, no more danger.

Just them.

"It _is_ an important field," Blair said. He was yawning again. "Future...gen'rations. Posterity....thank us."

"I think you mean future _posteriors_."

Blair's disgusted snort was muffled by his pillow.

Jim turned out the light and flipped the covers over Blair's shoulders.

"You really should write it, Chief. Because it _is_ important," Jim said softly, listening to Blair's heart slowing into the steady rhythm of sleep. "You have no idea how important."

But he thought maybe Blair really did.

....................  
2008.10.21


End file.
